Nailed (Marked For Love #1) (5 page)

"No, he didn't! I don't know what he was into, but whatever it was, now Kevin's scared and talking crazy-talk. He's ready to quit as soon as we get back from our vacation."

"Scared of what?" His shadow? Shit, he was an accountant for a pharmaceutical company.

"Whatever Duane knew got him killed. Kevin seems sure of it."

"And now Kevin's involved?" I grabbed her arm, forcing her to face me. "Kevin's
not
involved, is he?"

Her head jerked up, her big brown eyes filled with fear. "I have to go." She lurched off the couch, her purse clutched to her chest.

I followed, unwilling to let her get away until I had more answers. "Karen, are you in trouble?"

"Be safe. And take care of Clyde for me!"

When the cops showed up a few hours later to tell me about the gas explosion, I'd freaked. I'd probably overreacted when I ran, but Karen's paranoia had gotten to me. A growl from Clyde reminded me where I was and that Tony was waiting.

A few thoughts. Wynn seemed like a nice guy—for a stone-cold killer or whatever the hell he was. He hadn't killed me yet, which meant he wanted something besides my head on a platter. He didn't seem subtle enough to be the FBI, and he didn't seem like the PI type, not that I knew a whole lot about the PI type. And the bottom line was I had no idea
what
he wanted.

Maybe...just maybe I should find out.

***

I spent the day in 5-A with Tony, laying linoleum and being thankful for work that didn't really take a lot of concentration. Late in the afternoon, I went and got us some lemonade, wishing it were beer, wishing I'd spiked it with vodka, but the monotony of physical labor had helped work off some of my anxiety. Other than clean up, we were done. We settled on the floor, sweaty and grimy and happy to get off our aching knees.

"Running gets old," Tony said absently.

"I don't see any other way."

"Sometimes there isn't. Sometimes you stand and fight."

"Would you?"

"If I had something to fight for, yes. I've been lucky so far, but I also think there comes a time when your back's against the wall and you have no choice."

Fatigue settled deep in my bones. "I have no place to go, no plan. I got caught with my pants down, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life running."

"Then I think you'd better fight, s'rita."

Fighting was all well and good, but it could mean my life. And I
really
wasn't really ready to die. Granted, I pretty much already had. I had no life. I had no future, nothing to look forward to. I guess I really had nothing to lose either way I went.

Chapter Eight

Wynn headed up 67 North to Fort Stockton, home of the nearest Wal-Mart, while dialing his mom.

"How's it going, Wynnie-poo?"

"I need your help again, and you can't tell Dad." Wynn grinned to himself and blatantly ignored the use of his nickname. The thought of pulling one over on his dad, especially with his mom's help, tickled the shit out of him.

"What have you...wait. I'll help you, but you have to keep me in the loop. You know how your father is. He doesn't tell me anything."

He told her as much as he dared, including Julie's fake name. However, he wisely omitted that he'd slept with her. "If I push too hard, she'll run. She might anyway."

His mom chuckled on the other end of the phone. "She sounds like a clever girl, and you can't afford for her to run. You'll never make your deadline."

"But not clever enough to not be found." He sighed. "What if she doesn't know about her sister?"

"Is that what you think?"

"That's what my gut's saying." And no amount of persuasion from anyone would change that.

"Then why did she run? If she doesn't know whether her sister's alive, then Karen and Kevin are probably with the Feds, dear."

"Not according to my sources. I think they're on the run. Now, I need you to send me a bed and a couch, lamps, a few books and some clothes. Doesn't matter what; it's just temporary, but I need to make it look good."

"I'll get to it in the next day or so. What's the address?"

 He rattled it off and hung up, a smile on his face as he covered the last few desolate miles to Wal-Mart.

Two hours later, he pushed out a cart loaded with food, pots and pans, a cookbook, and an assortment of basic household goods, including an air pump and an air mattress. And a huge box of condoms. He wasn't dumb. A stranger in a small town seen frequently buying condoms wasn't the type of attention he wanted. And he had no intention of driving back to Fort Stockton for more anytime soon. Well, he would if he had to, but he didn't
want
to.

Grinning to himself, he set the cruise control and headed toward his new home, miles of sand and scrubby landscape sliding by.

How the hell had Julie stood it out here in the wilds of nowhere? Apparently, a girl did what she had to in order to survive. He could respect that even if he couldn't appreciate it.  

Back in Cielo, he parked behind the complex and quickly unloaded the Blazer. Julie was nowhere in sight. That was okay. He'd be ready for her when she showed up after work.

He put the chicken on to boil and added some seasoning, then put on another pot of water for the tetrazzini noodles.

He hauled in the rest of his meager belongings, carried all the empty boxes and bags to the Dumpster, then finished their dinner and slid it in the oven. The apartment didn't look homey, or even romantic, but it'd do, and even without a bed, it was actually better than the hotel. The sink and countertops were new, as were the plumbing fixtures in the bathroom and the tub. He had to give Julie credit. She did good work, especially for a woman who'd never worked with her hands before.

***

He stepped out of the shower to find the apartment filled with the smell of warm cheese and butter, and Julie taking the tetrazzini from the oven.

"Nice towel."

"Nice overalls." He shivered in the chilly hair, his grip tightened on the towel wrapped around his waist. "How'd you get in?"

"Door was open." She tossed the potholders on the counter and let her eyes drift down the length of him. She might as well have been touching him with those tiny, calloused hands of hers. "You should be more careful."

"In Cielo?" he laughed, moving toward the bedroom door.

"Even in Cielo." She gave him a pointed look.

He didn't miss her narrowed eyes or the thin set of her lips. Something wasn't right. And it was more than just him busting her about being a voyeur. "Duly noted. I'll be right back."

In the bedroom, he dug a pair of khaki shorts and a fresh polo shirt out of his suitcase, dressing as quickly as possible before rejoining Julie in the kitchen.

"So how was your day?" she asked.

"Good." He slid a loaf of Italian bread in the oven to warm. "Talked to my mom. She's sending my furniture."

"And she wasn't at all alarmed that her baby boy was moving to the middle of nowhere?"

"Mom understands I need to do what I need to do." That, at least, wasn't a lie.

He set the timer, then opened a bottle of wine, pouring some in two cheap glasses. "Want some?"

"I'm more of a beer girl, but sure," she said with a shrug. Once upon a time she'd been a wine girl, a martini girl even, but he let it slide.

"So what about
your
mom?" he asked, even though he knew the answer. The question was a natural progression and hopefully wouldn't put her hackles up too much. "You two close?"

"She died when I was in college." She slowly eased away, turning and heading toward the living room window.

"I'm sorry." He wasn't really sorry. At least not in that I-didn't-know way of people who ask personal questions of people they barely knew. "Were you close?"

"Not really. Sort of. It was a long time ago." She spun around to face him, "—I think we need to lay some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" He took his wine and followed her into the living room.

"We can eat, we can talk, I'll even let you pet my... cat, but no more third degree."

Shit!

"The place, it's got great charm."

He laughed ruefully. "You should see the air mattress."

"I'm sure it's almost as charming as you are." She stood at the window, peeping through the blinds.

He ignored her dig. "Anything interesting out there?"

She just couldn't help herself, could she? Always looking, always nosing. Had the habit grown out of her paranoia after her sister's death, or had she always been like this? Had her nosiness been a source of conflict in her sister's marriage or no? Had she protested her sister's marriage to a dull-as-dirt accountant who'd probably never be anything more? Who'd shackled Karen to a middle-class suburban hell? Then shackled her to a life on the run thanks to whatever he'd stolen.

"Maybe later we can test out the air mattress and see how sturdy it really is." He stood directly behind her, pressed against the length of her as much because he enjoyed it as he knew it would irritate her.

She couldn't move away without giving him a shove first, and she'd never show her discomfort at his closeness.

"How about no?" She released the blinds and gingerly maneuvered around to face him. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

No to sex was not good. Not good at all, and not just because he'd blown money on a super-sized box of condoms either. He forced himself to focus, stay in the moment. "My mom."

"Are you a mama's boy?" Her expression was guarded enough to put him on high alert.

"Some would say so." Most notably his brothers and probably, his father, though he'd never said the words out loud. "You know this isn't fair?"

"Huh?" she asked, sipping her wine.

"I can't ask you anything personal." He quirked an eyebrow waiting to see how she'd respond.

"Them's the rules, babe. Take 'em or leave 'em." She jabbed a finger at the door, one eyebrow quirked in question.

"But it's my apartment."

"Fine." She set her wine glass on the window sill and turned to go.

"Who you gonna peep tonight." He smiled in triumph as her shoulders stiffened.

"Blackmail doesn't become you." She glanced at him over her shoulder.

If she only knew. "Blackmail is such an ugly word! Let's eat," he added as the oven timer started to buzz.

He turned toward the kitchen, sure she wouldn't leave and not just because of the blackmail. Whether she knew it or not, Julie wanted him. Wanted to be there, and after three years, was probably tired of being alone.

Human nature dictated that man (and woman) socialize, gather, fuck and hunt, not live alone like Julie had for the last three years. Only the old and sick were left behind, to die, and Julie was neither old nor sick, despite her—what hell did you call a female peeping tom again? Voyeur would just have to do. Julie was lonely, whether she'd admit it or not, and he had every intention of taking advantage of that fact.

"Hope you brought your appetite!"

She joined him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "Meet any of your neighbors?"

"Just the hot blonde downstairs."

"Big tits; nice tan?"

"Sounds like her." He stopped fixing their plates to top off her glass.

"Her boyfriend, Tan—"

"Tan?"

"Yeah, Tan, good-looking, oriental guy. They fight cause he thinks she's cheating, but he can't catch her."

"And," he asked waiting for the punch line.

"She's sleeping with their roommate."

"That's not right."

"I dunno." She shrugged, a smirk on her face. She was enjoying this. "Tan's sister's kinda hot."

Potholder clutched in his fist, he stared at her in shock. "She's cheating with his sister!?"

Julie giggled. It sounded rusty and hoarse, as if she hadn't in a long time. As if she never laughed anymore. He filed that away for future use. Humor was good and he had a feeling sly humor worked especially well with Bonnie.

"No wonder poor Tan can't catch her...so, exactly how hot is his sister, and do I even want to know just how
you
know they're, yeah, ya know." Wynn shrugged.

"I walked by their window once and they were making out on the couch."

"Where was Tan?"

"At work I guess." She shrugged. "You gonna interrogate me about your new neighbors all night or feed me?"

Chapter Nine

I didn't trust Wynn, I didn't know his game. I just couldn't bring myself to trust someone Clyde liked. After all Clyde hated me, which just went to show what a poor judge of character he was!

Plate and wine in hand, I sank down on the floor with my back against the living room wall. Wynn definitely had money, and he'd apparently spent a ton outfitting his apartment today. In other words, he'd gone to a lot of trouble to make this look good. So he had money. That, at least, was a good starting point. "What'd you used to do?"

"Real estate and some investments." He smiled from his spot, back against the built-in bookcase. His long-ass legs were stretched out in front of him, his size twelve feet crossed at the ankles. He was long and lean and damn me, I liked that in a man. That and the sound of his voice—deep and smooth. Under different circumstances, I might have even called it soothing, but not now.

"So how many siblings do you have?" I picked at my food, which by the way, was better than anything I'd had in a long,
long
time. Cooking for one sucked.

"Three. Two brothers and a baby sister. Dani's kind of a princess." He shrugged and smiled in a way that said he liked her that way and maybe she was even
his
princess, in the way older brothers can do.

"You mean she's a spoiled-ass brat?" I challenged just to see what he'd say.

"If by spoiled-ass you mean inviting the entire Sophomore class over for a pool party on her sixteenth birthday, yeah."

"I assume it wasn't a small class."

"And she got a BMW. It was just a three series and used, but it was better than Will, or John or I got."

"Jealous?" I teased even though I knew he wasn't. You could tell by the twinkle in his eye. And he was telling the truth. He really did have a sister. Probably had two brothers also.